


they call kids like us vicious and carved out of stone

by sickfromthetrebel



Category: My Chemical Romance, Pencey Prep
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Basement Gerard Way, Blowjobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partying, Pencey Prep Frank, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, early my chemical romance days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27463195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickfromthetrebel/pseuds/sickfromthetrebel
Summary: It was different after he met Gerard. Maybe it was just another coping skill to avoid seeing a fucking therapist for another few months, or maybe Gerard should stop drinking and Frank should get better at not punching holes through walls and leaving everyone on voicemail.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Kudos: 37





	they call kids like us vicious and carved out of stone

**Author's Note:**

> this is chapter one.

Maybe it was therapeutic, had healing properties. Perhaps the ringing in his ears was simply enough to take his mind off things for the thirty-ish minutes a set would typically last. Maybe screaming his lungs out until his voice was raspy for days was a good supplement for a fucking therapist. It’s not like money was a part of it, it’d probably only pay for a mere 14 seconds in a much needed psych ward. But something about the sensation of burning in his chest and the blistering skin on the pads of his fingers as power chords rang through some random person’s basement or a cheap bar paid for by minimum wage jobs paid off after the ringing and bass settled down, after the parties and drinks and hookups and everything slowed down to a comfortable rate. Playing made Frank feel alive, purposeful. It filled him with a buzz that drugs came only somewhat close to. Only really good drugs, that is.

And when he met Gerard, the world seemed to slow on its axis and Frank no longer felt the rise of vomit in his throat every time he left the house, apart from going to his own shows and the cheap shows of shitty bands. Joints were rolled and passed, red eyes shone bright under streetlights, red eyeshadow stained his pillowcases and empty cans littered the floor after the deed was done and they were too drunk to care about cleaning up, just needed to bask in the simplicity of after-sex and drunk buzz. Even the days when they were apart, everything was simple and true. Frank’s breathing was slower, he wasn’t getting the feelings of his stomach dropping nearly as often when he knew Gerard would be there when he needed him. He was only a call, a show and exactly twelve blocks away. He still smoked and drank, but not only to feel something, but mainly in social settings now. He didn’t need it otherwise, Gerard was a supplement to substances. 

↝

The ringing grew louder as Frank approached the living room, music that was less than his cup of tea booming from speakers. The air of the party smelled thick of booze and every other drug under the sun, girls with smeared lipstick and boys who’d probably murder them at the given chance making out at every corner. The guys here were the type of guys to pull a pistol or knife on those innocent girls at some unexpected moment when she’d be too drunk to notice. Or at least they’d think about it. The room was thick with smoke from the cigarettes of college students and the occasional high schooler that somehow managed to wriggle themselves into the party and get a smoke from some adult.

The show that night was exhilarating. Frank’s body and brain were still flooded with adrenaline and his clothes smelled like shit. His other bandmates had either crashed on strangers' couches or came to the same party. Neil had gone back home, though. 

Frank pushed past frat boys who smelled like they’d just ran a mile drenched in beer in order to get to the kitchen counter so he could pour his own drink. Unlike other guests, he’d gladly steer clear from punch bowls and drinks passed around like party favors. He'd rather not get drugged and end up in a ditch somewhere. That surely wouldn’t look good for any future record deal. 

He reached for a red solo cup from a stack next to the sink, scanning for a halfway decent choice of alcohol. He grabbed a bottle of obviously cheap vodka by the neck, picking it up to sniff it. Smelled like regular ass vodka, not like date rape drugs had any smell, but he’d take his chances. No one seemed to be passing out and writhing on the floor and the bottle was already half empty. He poured the vodka into the cup, mixing it with some regular fruit punch. He may have had his fair share of drinks in his life, but any nineteen year old a year and a half out of high school wasn’t exactly a master at downing the taste of straight alcohol. He sipped it slow, taking in the atmosphere of the party. It was hosted in some small frat house on the campus of a community college. It was mainly college students. Cheap lights and loud music blared through the house.The vodka tasted like shit, expected.

Frank was watching some very drunk girl grind on some frat boy when his drink was suddenly thrown halfway out of his hand, the liquid sloshing all over his face and onto the counter of the kitchen bar as he attempted to take a sip. Frank nearly choked, turning around quickly. “What the fuck-?” He stuttered, turning around and coming face to face with a heavily blushing stranger, clearly not someone that would purposely knock into someone and make them spill their drink everywhere at a house party. 

“ Shit-” The stranger hissed, setting down his drink and stumbling for a nearly empty roll of paper towel near the sink. “Shit man, I’m sorry.” He blushed harder, awkwardly handing Frank a few pieces of disappointingly unabsorbent paper towel. Frank laughed a little at the effort. It wasn’t a big deal, it was literally just comical now as the stranger struggled to rip off a few pieces in the dim light.

“Dude, it's fine, don’t worry about it.” Frank smiled, shaking his head slightly. “It tasted like shit anyways.” The stranger smiled, Frank able to make out his face going bright red even with the only light source being colored party lights.The stranger looked down at his feet, fiddling his own cup between his hands. He helped Frank clean off the counter, using the rest of the paper towel. He was definitely sorry, maybe a little too much, but Frank didn’t mind. He was nice, and pretty fucking cute. “Frank.” He reached out his hand.. He looked up and smiled.

“Gerard.”He said, shaking Frank’s hand firmly. “Dude,” he shouted over the music. “If you want decent booze, I got you. This shit totally sucks.” Frank giggled loudly as if the few sips of cheap vodka and punch had intoxicated him, or maybe it was Gerard that was intoxicating him, flaring dopamine in his brain and putting him in a trance. He put his left hand on the counter behind him, opening up his stance flirtatiously. God he’s fucking cute. 

“You know Gerard, I just might have to take up on such an offer.” Frank grinned, putting one hand on his hip and the other in the pocket of his worn-out high school varsity jacket. Gerard smiled wide, nervously fiddling with his mop of black hair. His hands were big, strong. He had a pointy nose and sharply contoured jawline and cheekbones. He wasn’t handsome, Frank thought. He was fucking pretty and he looked like he tasted like good cigarettes and good booze, the kind that you have to ask the cashier at a liquor store to get from the high shelves behind the counter. 

Following some stranger who’d just made him spill his drink out of a party definitely wasn’t the smartest of moves, but that’s what naive nineteen year olds do, right? Besides, if he got murdered, at least it was at the hands of some pretty guy with a pretty smile and pretty hair who looked like he tasted like expensive cigarettes and booze. 

“Hey,” Gerard said as they passed by partygoers and walked out the back door. “Weren’t you playing down the street tonight?” 

“Oh, yeah. That’s my band” Frank answered, a little surprised. Gerard didn’t look like some rocker that would show up to small bar shows. 

“Dude, no fucking way.” Gerard stopped outside of the door, leaning against the concrete wall. His face was illuminated in the dim street lights and moonlight. He was so fucking pretty. Frank couldn’t take his eyes off him, and he completely missed the question he asked and swore Gerard caught him staring. “Pencey Prep, right?” Gerard repeated.

“Oh,” Frank looked down awkwardly. “Yeah.” Now it was his turn to blush like a fucking idiot. Gerard walked towards the street, fiddling in his pocket for car keys. The air was chilly, late september in Jersey was unusually cold this year. 

“Dude, that’s so fucking sick.” Gerard said. Frank followed him, passing a few cars packed into the street, blocking driveways and dangerously close to one another's bumpers. “ I’m actually in a band too.” Frank’s head shot up in surprise. This dude? In a band? He’d imagined Gerard sitting in his parent’s basement playing video games and running up the stairs when the pizza rolls were ready. Frank almost burst out laughing imagining Gerard running up the stairs on all fours like a kid. 

“What do you play?” Frank asked, his brow furrowing. Gerard giggled, probably able to see the confusion and straight up doubt struck across Frank’s face.

“I actually sing.” he answered, proudly grinning like an absolute idiot. Frank smiled, shook his head and shrugged. He’d think Gerard would play bass or drums, not sing, but he guessed his nasally voice probably wouldn’t sound too bad singing. “My Chemical Romance.” he said. “We’ve only got a few demos and haven’t actually released shit, but I think we’ll go platinum.” Frank snorted. So he was cute and funny? Okay. 

“We can be major-label mates.” Frank put his hand on the hood of Gerards car, and Gerard unlocked it, reaching into the backseat and rummaging through a box on the floor.

“I’ll make sure to feature you on our much-awaited sophomore album, Frank.” Frank giggled and Gerard pushed himself up off the seat, appearing with a bottle of peach vodka, the good kind that you have to ask the cashier to get from the shelves. Gerard shivered, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s go back inside,” Gerard moved close to Frank, resting his hand on his shoulder. He was taller, probably stronger. Frank’s breath hitched as Gerard spoke into his ear. “It’s cold out here.”

Frank was able to conclude that his guess at what Gerard tasted like was proven scarily accurate when they merged in with the young couples making out in corners, empty bathrooms and against any free surface. He was usually right about this type of thing. A few years of occasional whoring around gave him the confidence. He often made it a little game to himself to guess what the other person tasted like and prove it by the end of the night. How classy. Gerard had strong hands that tugged at Frank’s mess of a self-cut fading orange mohawk, soft lips that reached all the right places inside his mouth as if he knew every single thing that drove Frank fucking crazy, and something unidentifiable that made Frank absolutely desperate for more.

Drinking a stranger’s good ass vodka and making out with him in a small bathroom at a party after knowing each other for an hour wasn’t a moment usually filled with dignity, but something about the way Gerard dug his nails into Frank’s hips and kissed him with hellfire made every nerve in Frank’s body stand on end, and before he could think twice about the situation, they were both shirtless and sweating, their tongues shoved in each others mouths. The music from the living room faded away and all that Frank could focus on was the hot stranger touching him all over as he sat on the counter, Gerard straddling him. The bathroom door wasn’t even locked, but clearly neither of them gave enough of a fuck to do anything about it. Desperation becomes amplified with alcohol and nicotine, especially when desperation looks so damn pretty in messy red eyeshadow.

Frank could freely admit to himself that he wasn’t exactly the type to think fucking on the first date was a sinful act. He’d hooked up with more people then he could count on both hands, but nine times out of ten, it ended wuth missed calls from the other party and no more than three dates. But as soon as Gerard’s mouth moved from his lips and trailed down his body in wet, sloppy kisses, he knew that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to stay away from whatever the fuck this stranger was doing to him. 

Frank was gripping his hands tightly into Gerard’s messy hair and nearly every breath from the shorter man came out as a curse. He was at Gerard’s full disposal and the pleasure overcame the embarrassment. The rest of the world faded away, Frank was fully entranced in Gerard. His touch was fire against him, his lips were tranquilizing, he was fucking briliant and Frank wanted to stay lost in him forever. The buzz of the alcohol mixed with Gerard made every hair on Frank’s body stand on end. 

Frank was relentlessly moaning against the strangers mouth, Gerard recuperating gladly, nibbling on Frank’s lower lip. He was basically a fucking vampire with how hard he’d sucked on Frank’s neck and chest. Hell, Frank’s wouldn’t have been surprised if his lips came out bruised the next morning. Gerard was soft against his bare skin, he smelled good and felt so damn good. Gerard broke off the kiss, earning a groan from Frank.

“You’re a guitarist, aren’t you?” He asked. Frank sat there, dumbfounded. How the fu-“You’re playing with my hair like you’re fucking playing a guitar.”, Gerard interrupted his thought. 

“Well, you’re right, mister observant.” Frank grabbed Gerard’s hair and forced him back into the kiss, fingering the chords to one of his band’s songs against Gerard’s scalp.


End file.
